


Out of Time

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst, Cameo, Family Feels, Family Reunion, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Time Travel, financial worries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: After Dia de los Muertos, Miguel thought he was done with ancient curses and magic.He was wrong
Relationships: Héctor Rivera & Miguel Rivera, Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera, Imelda Rivera & Miguel Rivera, Mamá Coco & Héctor Rivera, Mamá Coco & Héctor Rivera & Imelda Rivera, Mamá Coco & Imelda Rivera, Miguel Rivera & Rosa Rivera
Comments: 28
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'd hoped to upload something for "Dia de los Muertos", but I didn't think that I'd have anything written in time. So, I spent the day watching "Coco" and fell in love all over again. 
> 
> I went back to something I'd written by hand years ago--a time-travel fanfic involving Miguel, Hector and Imelda. I never posted it because I couldn't commit to such a large story. But, the idea had me hooked, so I reworked the first few chapters into this little story. I hope everyone likes it.
> 
> Oh, and the original story had plenty of cameos from other movies, particularly those set around the same time (1920s), so I hope people can spot them.

_I opened my mouth_

_What came out was a song,_

_And you knew every word_

_And we all sang along_

The words felt comfortable in Miguel’s mouth as he sang softly. The street was deserted, since the rest of his classmates had run off to play Xbox or _futbal_ hours ago, but he still kept his voice down. It was a habit he’d developed from a lifetime of being banned from music and he hadn’t quite broken the habit, despite the ban being lifted. He glanced back at the imposing brick buildings of the school. He hated lingering outside the school—there was always the chance that one of his teachers would spot him and ask why he hadn’t done his homework, or done better in an assignment, or why he didn’t ask Rosa for tutoring since she did so well in class.

_Rosa should have been finished hours ago,_ he thought, as he scuffed his shoes against the ground.

His Mamá had made him promise to wait for Rosa to finish her advanced mathematics lesson so that they could walk home together. It was one of the new rules his parents had imposed following _Dias de los Muertos_ last year. Of course, the _familia_ didn’t know the whole story behind his disappearance—after all, how could he explain that he’d cursed himself by stealing a guitar, ended up in the Land of the Dead with his deceased relatives and almost ended up dying—twice. Sometimes, when he thought about it, it seemed like a dream. But, he did have evidence that it had happened—apart from his memories. On his chest, in the exact spot where Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor had touched him with their blessed _cempaxúchitl_ petal, was a tattoo. A single _cempaxúchitl_ petal drawn in black ink. Sometimes, when he thought of _Dias de los Muertos,_ it would grow warmer and he saw orange-gold light flicker around it.

He hadn’t told his parents about the tattoo or about the nightmares he sometimes had about Ernesto de la Cruz or his new fear of heights. He didn’t want to cause them extra worry. So, he’d agreed to the new rules without complaint.

And, those weren’t the only changes. After seeing Mamá Coco’s reaction to “ _Remember Me_ ”, Abuelita lifted the music ban completely. She even replaced the guitar she smashed and bought a shiny new radio for the kitchen. Once, Miguel caught her humming along to one of the jazz songs on the radio, though she hadn’t noticed him come into the room. Miguel smiled as he remembered the tentative talks his parents had about getting him a music teacher, Manolo Sánchez. Now, that would be great. But, in his deepest heart, he wanted a certain dead family member to be his teacher. Sadly, that was never going to happen.

He tried to hum the tune again, playing with the tempo and the rhythm. He knew that there was a song there—he could feel it in his bones. But, why was it so hard to write a song?

“Bones. . . maybe I can write a lyric about bones,” Miguel muttered to himself.

“Like what a bone-head you are?” a sharp voice came from behind him.

Miguel yelped and spun around. Rosa stood there with her arms folded and an amused smirk on her face. She had an overflowing backpack slung over her shoulder and her glasses flashed in the afternoon sunlight.

“Don’t do that!” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because—just because!”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Now, come on. Let’s get home before Abuelita throws her _chancla_ at us for being late.”

“I’m not the one who’s late,” Miguel muttered. “I thought your mathematics ended fifteen minutes ago? What were you doing?”

“None of your business,” she snapped as she adjusted her bag and marched down the street. Miguel had to run to keep up with her.

“Was it more extra work?” he asked.

“No.”

“Were you in trouble?”

“No!”

An idea sparked in Miguel’s mind. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” he asked as he made a face.

Rosa’s cheeks went red. “No!”

He snorted. “Rosa has a boyfriend. Rosa has a boyfriend to drive her _Un Poco Loco_!”

“Stop it!” She lunged at him, but Miguel danced out of reach and sped off down the road chanting “ _Rosa has a boyfriend_ ”. His feet pounded against the familiar cobblestone streets of _Santa Cecilia_ and the town whizzed past in a blur of red and white walls. He could hear Rosa’s angry panting behind him and ran faster. He dodged the pedestrians wandering the streets and the vendors still peddling their goods. He took a few sharp turns, jumped over a set of dustbins and past a cafe to try and shake off his _prima_.

He ducked through a narrow alleyway and almost laughed as he ran out the other side. There was no way Rosa would—

Something seized his ear and Miguel cried out. He turned and, sure enough, Rosa was the one holding him.

“Say you’re sorry!” she demanded, as she twisted his ear.

“No! Yeouch! All right . . . sorry!”

Satisfied, she let go and Miguel rubbed his earlobe.

“Did you have to twist so hard?”

“It’s not my fault you have big ears,” Rosa said.

Then, her face fell as she looked at something behind him. He turned around.

Somehow, their mad dash through _Santa Cecilia_ had ended with them standing a short distance from the Ramirez house. Miguel swallowed hard. The whole town whispered about this house. They said it was cursed and, looking at it, Miguel could see why. The door hung off its hinges, cracks decorated the walls and the missing glass in the windows reminded him of a boxer who’d taken too many punches to the face. The elderly folk in the town that they’d seen strange blue lights in the house late at night—despite the fact that no one had lived there for years. He shivered and rubbed his chest as he felt his tattoo throb.

“You’re not scared, are you?” Rosa asked with a raised eyebrow.

She tried to sound confident, but Miguel could hear the quaver in her voice.

“I’m not scared, you are,” he accused.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she snapped.

He snickered. “Rosa’s a scaredy cat.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll prove I’m not afraid,” she said and she strode forward, dumping her bag on the floor.

“Wait, Rosa!” She ignored him. She tugged the broken door open and disappeared into the blackness of the house. Miguel said a few words under his breath that would have made Abuelita smack him with the _chancla._ He took a deep breath, let out a long exhale and marched over to the door as he pretended that his legs weren’t shaking. With each step, he felt his _cempazúchitl_ petal tattoo growing warmer.

Suddenly, he heard a whine behind him. Miguel half-turned and saw Dante lying on the floor, his head on his forepaws and his tail tucked between his legs.

“Dante! What are you doing here?”

The _alebrije_ whined and his eyes moved between Miguel and the door of the house.

“What is it, boy?” Miguel asked.

Dante stood and ran away from the house, then ran back when he realised that Miguel wasn’t following him. He whined and went back to Miguel, pawing at him.

“Dante, no, I can’t.”

He latched onto the leg of Miguel’s pants and tugged him away from the door.

“Dante! No, stop it!” He yanked his leg free and glared at the _alebrije_. “I know that you don’t want me to go in there, but Rosa is in there and she might need help.”

Regardless of how much his _prima_ might annoy him, she was his family. And, family comes first. He took another deep breath and walked towards the door. Dante joined him with a small whine. Miguel reached down and scratched his head.

“It will be okay, boy. You’ll see.”

He swore that the _alebrije_ gave him a disbelieving look, but he remained by his side as he slipped into the house.

The first thing Miguel noticed was the thick, dank feeling in the air, as though it hadn’t moved for years. A layer of dust—at least an inch thick—covered the entire floor and cobwebs hung like draping from the ceiling. He looked around at the entrance hall. It was devoid of furniture, but Miguel could see the outlines of Rosa’s footprints in the dust. He followed them into the next room and shivered as his tattoo twinged. He rubbed his chest and looked around. There were a few pieces of furniture, but they were covered by enormous white sheets. On the shelves, Miguel could see some strange, stone carvings and books with pages that had gone yellow with age. He started towards them and jumped when Dante sneezed. 

He looked up to find Dante sniffing at one of the old statues. To Miguel’s shock, blue light shimmered across the surface of the stone.

“Dante, no. Let’s go boy.” Miguel tugged the _alebrije_ way from the statute. “We need to find Rosa.”

Dante barked, shook off Miguel and raced out the room. Miguel chased after him, down a corridor and a moment later, he arrived at a door that swung loosely from its hinges. Dante waited at the door, his eyes wide with worry.

“What is it? Is Rosa down there?”

He barked and pawed the door open. The dim bulb lit up the room and Miguel could see that the door led to a set of rickety wooden stairs and down to the basement. Dante climbed down the staircase. Miguel took a deep breath and followed. The stairs creaked beneath each footstep and he noticed spiders and insects scuttling away from him.

Miguel reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around. He thought that it was probably the oddest place he’d ever been in, the Land of the Dead included. There were boxes stacked everywhere and he could see things poking out from them, like long strips of snakeskin and spears decorated with blue crystals. Huge parchments covered the walls and on them were the bizarre symbols. Beside them dangled tapestries and old fabrics. The oddest thing in the room was a circular stone slab in the centre with six statutes set up around it: a dragon, a jaguar, a phoenix, a snake, a crow and a jackal.

Then, his eyes darted to the desk in the corner of the room. Rosa stood there with an old journal in her hands. On the front of the journal was a strange symbol, almost like an eye. Miguel felt the skin around his _cempazúchitl_ petal prickle.

“Rosa, we really shouldn’t be here,” he said as he walked towards her.

“Who’s the scaredy-cat now?” she asked, without looking up from the journal.

“Rosa, please let’s get out of here,” Miguel begged as Dante gave another whine. The tattoo was getting warmer with each moment and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

She held up the journal and Miguel saw the same weird writing in the book as the parchments on the walls.

“The journal’s not in any language I know. I can’t read it. But, at least the letters are in Spanish.”

“What letters?”

“The ones that were inside the journal.” She lifted one up and then read aloud.

_Dear Audrey_

_First off, I just wanted to congratulate your sister on the new title. It’s a very impressive achievement, considering that she was competing against the best boxers in the world. I hope she enjoys the trophy!_

_Kida and I are doing well, thanks for asking. Most of my days have been spent locating old manuscripts, murals and records and transcribing them into readable documents. It’s taking a long while, but I’m learning so much about Atlantian history—_

Rosa snorted as she read that. “Seriously, Atlantians? What was this guy smoking?”

“Rosa. . .” Miguel said, as Dante whined. He was getting a bad feeling, but she ignored him and continued reading.

_And culture. I’ve also started another project. It’s a school for all Atlantians who want to learn how to read and write. No, not English, but authentic Atlantian. I’m probably not the best teacher, since Kida keeps teasing me about my atrocious accent, but things are moving forward at least. The restoration is also going well. Kida has been putting the people to work restoring old buildings, repairing the walkways and rebuilding the libraries. It’s really beautiful to see._

_It’s not entirely good news. Some of the Atlantian artefacts we found were clearly meant for military purposes. Isn’t that typical of us humans? We have all this knowledge and all this amazing technology and the best use we can put it to is finding more effective ways to slaughter each other. Kida and I aren’t entirely sure what to do with those artefacts. Unfortunately, we can’t send them to you guys on the surface since they will cause more trouble there than here (and I don’t trust Vinny to behave himself around these things)._

But what we have sent is this stone slab and statutes. If I’m reading these markings right, this is a tool for time travel.

“Time travel? Is he serious?” Miguel demanded, his fear temporarily forgotten.

The idea was both crazy and super cool. Imagine being able to go back in time and hang out with all the really awesome people like Frida Kahlo or Diego Rivera. 

“Grow up. This guy’s was obviously nuts. There’s no way that this—” she glanced at the paper “Milo discovered time travel. He even says that this crystal,” she picked it up off the desk and waved it at Miguel “is the key to the whole process.”

He snatched the letter from her hands. “Anything is possible,” he muttered, thinking of walking skeletons with eyeballs, flying jaguars and bridges made from _cempaxúchitl_ petals.

Rosa shook her head. “I’ll prove it.”

Before Miguel could stop her, Rosa walked into the middle of the stone slab. She touched the crystal to the jaguar statute. His heart jolted, but nothing happened. He breathed a sigh of relief. She smirked at him.

“You see, nothing to—”

Suddenly, the jaguar’s eyes flared with an otherworldly blue light. Blue light shot across the slab, illuminating each of the statutes and all the intricate carvings. A wind suddenly picked up and sent papers and objects hurtling in all directions. Dante whined as he dodged a flying book and Miguel had to duck to avoid being hit by the journal.

Rosa stood in the centre of it all, her eyes completely blank, as the light swirled around her.

“Rosa, run!” He yelled, but his _prima_ didn’t seem to hear him.

Miguel ran forward and pain shot through his chest. He looked down and saw his _cempazúchitl_ petal glowing with orange-gold light—an equally unearthly glow. Fear shot through him. Was he about to be pulled back to the Land of the Dead? What was going on? Both the blue lights and his petal glowed brighter as the wind grew stronger and Rosa . . . Rosa shimmered, as though she was about to disappear.

_No!_

He ran forward onto the stone slab. He gasped again as pain passed through him, but he ignored it and fought to get to Rosa. Each step was an effort, as though he was wading through mud. Light and wind roared around him. He grabbed Rosa. 

“Rosa, come on.” He tried to drag her towards the edge, but she just stood as though entranced.

“Rosa!”

Still nothing. Miguel grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Then, a colourful blur shot past his legs. Somehow, Dante had reverted to his true _alebrije_ form. He touched Rosa with his nose and colour rippled across her. She stumbled and blinked in shock.

“Miguel! What’s going on! Why’s your chest glowing?!” she yelled.

“I’ll explain later. We have to go!” he yelled.

He couldn’t be sure if she heard him over the roar of the storm, so he grabbed her hand and the two of them struggled towards the edge of the slab. The ache on his chest grew worse as the orange-gold glow grew brighter. Suddenly, his legs buckled as pain slammed into him and stole his breath.

“Miguel!” Rosa tried to drag him along, but somehow, Miguel knew they were out of time.

Waves of hot prickles and icy chills chased each other across his skin. He looked up at her.

“Dante!” he called out and his loyal _alebrije_ shot through the air, slammed into Rosa and knocked her off the slab.

He felt a tug and the last thing he saw was Rosa’s horrified face as everything disappeared. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so now we move onto another chapter. What you'll see is that this chapter is focalised through the point of view of our favourite skeletal musico, though he's not a skeleton quite yet. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Héctor hummed a little as he strolled through Mariachi Plaza with his songbook tucked under his arm. He never went anywhere without it—after all; he never knew when inspiration for a song might strike. He paused and strained his ears. The _mariachis_ were out in full force in the plaza, playing every instrument from the violin to the accordion. As usual, the music floated through the air and carried Héctor’s spirit with it. He looked around. A few passers-by stopped and listened to the _mariachis_ , while others danced to the beat, either alone or with a partner. Several members of the audience tossed _pesos_ into the open cases of the _mariachis_ ’ instruments while others called out requests, to which the _mariachis_ obliged. Then, a short _mariachi_ in a navy _charro_ suit caught sight of Héctor.

“ _Hola_ , Héctor!” he yelled, waving his trumpet enthusiastically at Héctor.

“ _Hola_ , Ramon!” he called back. “How are you?”

“I’m dying here. I’m playing with complete amateurs!” he said, clutching his chest in mock pain.

His companions gave outraged cries and one of them tried to shove Ramon. But, the short man danced out of reach and ended up directly in front of Héctor. Ramon gave a wide grin as he craned his neck to look up at him. 

“Come, _amigo,_ join us.”

“ _Lo siento,_ Ramon. But, I have an important meeting at the _Café_ with _Señor_ Posada and I’d hate to be late.”

Ramon snorted. “What are you meeting with that man for? All he cares about is his new house and the parties he throws.”

Héctor shrugged. “He’s not so bad when you get to know him.”

He shook his head. “Ay, Héctor. You could be friends with the devil.”

“I doubt that.” Héctor laughed as his fingers twitched.

_Friends with the devil? Maybe I could work that into a song somewhere?_

“All right,” Ramon said, bringing his attention back to the present. “You go off and leave me to work with these amateurs. Maybe I can organize them into something resembling _músicos_. But, then you’d better come and play with us later on. And, bring Ernesto. When you two perform together, it’s like magic! The crowds love it.”

“ _Si,_ I’ll come. But, Ernesto is performing in another town for a few weeks, so you’ll just have to wait a bit before you’ll hear us play together _._ ”

“I look forward to it. You two always attract huge crowds.”

Héctor waved and headed through Mariachi Plaza. Honestly, he didn’t really care how big the crowds were when he played. He just liked to see the way people enjoyed the music. He dawdled for a few more seconds as one of the violinists performed a complex series of notes, before sighing and continuing on his way.

_Café Avellaneda_ was a small _café_ just past Mariachi Plaza with only a small space inside for patrons. Still the owners made the most of the space, cramming as many tables and chairs into it and decorating each table with a checkered table cloth and a small vase of flowers. Most of the tables were full, as men—and some women—sat at the tables. The men played cards, or dominoes, while the women chatted in small groups. The aroma of coffee melded with the chatter of the people and the clatter of dice.

At the one table sat _Señor_ Posada with a steaming cup of coffee beside his hand and a newspaper spread out in front of him. The man had done his level best to adopt the fashions of the United States and it showed. He wore a tidy two-piece suit, paired with a dark bowtie and polished shoes. His mustache and hair displayed a neatness that Héctor could never hope to achieve with his hair. _Señor_ Posada waved as he caught sight of him.

“ _Hola_ , Héctor. Come have a seat,” he said as he gestured to the seat opposite him.

“Am I late?” he asked as he sat down and set his songbook down on the table.

“No. I simply prefer being a few moments early for each meeting. It gives me a few moments to collect my thoughts and prepare properly.”

“Ah.”

“Now, what can I get for you?”

“No, _gracias,_ I’m really fine. I—”

“Don’t be silly,” _Señor_ Posada said.

He waved over a waitress and placed an order for a coffee, before turning back to Héctor. “Now, what did you want to discuss with me, _Señor_ Rivera?”

“I needed to talk to you about my home. I’m afraid,” he swallowed hard. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay the rent this month.”

_Señor_ Posada shook his head sadly. “Ay, Héctor. Don’t tell me that.”

“ _Lo siento,_ I’m really sorry. But things have been really difficult this month.”

“Héctor, I like you. I really do. But, we spoke about this when you first rented the house from me.”

He sighed. “I know.”

Héctor had been utterly desperate to rent a house in _Santa Cecilia._ He’d wanted to propose to Imelda and he wanted to show her _familia_ that he wasn’t some pathetic orphan trying to sponge off their daughter. That he could, at least, provide a roof over her head. Maybe then they would accept him. But, the only landlord in _Santa Cecilia_ who was willing to risk renting a property to an orphan _músico_ had been _Señor_ Posada and even then the conditions had been clear: one missed payment and Héctor—and his family—would be evicted.

The plan hadn’t worked: Imelda’s family still hadn’t accepted him, but at least he’d been able to provide a home for Imelda and Coco.

“Héctor, if you miss a payment, I’m going to have to take action,” _Señor_ Posada said in a quiet voice.

A chill went through Héctor. “You can’t mean that, _amigo._ I’ve got a wife and child to think of. I’ll find a way to get the money. Please, please give me a chance. I’ll get the money, somehow. I swear it. Just please, please don’t make my wife and child homeless.”

_Is there a way I can earn the money? Performing at_ cantinas _doesn’t bring in much, but if I do that and join a few mariachi performances in the plaza, maybe I can get enough by the end of the month? Or maybe I can labour in the fields for a week or two? Farmers always need a few extra hands to tend the fields. Surely then I could earn some money._

What would he do if _Señor_ Posada did throw them out? Where would they go? He was an orphan with no family to speak of—and Imelda’s parents had made it _extremely_ clear that they didn’t want anything to do with Héctor.

_Still, they wouldn’t turn their back on their own daughter and grandchild? Maybe, if I promised that I wouldn’t stay with them, then they would at least let Imelda and Coco sleep in their home for a while? That can’t be too much to ask? They couldn’t really—_

“How much?” _Señor_ Posada asked.

“What?” Héctor looked up in confusion.

The waitress returned and set down the coffee in front of him. He breathed in the aroma as he looked at _Señor_ Posada. The man’s face was firm but his eyes were kind.

“How much can you pay this month?”

“About . . . half.” And even that would be pushing it.

_Señor_ Posada nodded slowly. “Then, here’s what we’ll do, _amigo_. You’ll pay me what you can afford this month and for the remainder of the rent, you’ll perform with your friend, Ernesto, at my wife’s _fiesta_ later in the year.”

Héctor’s eyes widened. “ _Muchos gracias!”_

“But, Héctor, I can only do this once.”

“I understand. Don’t worry. Ernesto and I will perform like you’ve never seen before.”

“Where is Ernesto anyway? I haven’t seen him around town lately.”

“He had a few performances in the next town. He should be back in a couple of weeks.”

“Why didn’t you join him?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to be away from my girls. Coco was feeling sick and I couldn’t leave her when she wasn’t well.”

“A family man through and through” _Señor_ Posada said approvingly.

“ _Si.”_

Both men took a sip of their coffees and the conversation moved away from business to more pleasant topics. _Señor_ Posada bragged about his three sons and Héctor returned the favour by gushing over his little Coco. They talked about their wives, the other people they knew, the Revolution and the Spanish influenza. Then, _Señor_ Posada glanced at his watch.

“Ay, we’ve been talking for three hours!” he exclaimed.

“No!”

“Yes!

“ _Lo siento,_ I have to go! I promised Imelda that I’d be back a while ago.” Héctor stood up as he spoke and tucked his songbook beneath his arm.

“Don’t worry. My own wife expected me back long ago. I’m probably sleeping on a chair tonight.” Despite his words, there was a happy twinkle in the man’s eye.

Héctor grinned. “I wish you luck then.” He pulled out a few _pesos_ for his coffee and set them down on the table. With a jaunty wave, he dashed out into the sun-warmed streets of _Santa Cecilia._

The shadows had lengthened whilst he’d been talking to _Señor_ Posada and, though there were a few people still lingering on the streets, many had gone home to have _la cena_ or to climb into bed early in preparation for the next day’s work. He ran into one of the side streets. If he kept going in this direction, and then made a sharp left past the library, he’d get home much quicker.

As he dashed through the narrow street, something collided with him. Héctor hit the ground hard, his songbook flying out of his hands. He grunted and pushed himself upright. He started at the sight of a large Xolo dog with chocolate-coloured eyes and a lopsided grin staring at him.

“Did you knock me over?” Héctor asked, before realising that he was talking to a dog.

The dog blinked at him and whined. He grabbed his sleeve in his jaws and gave a sharp tug.

“No! Bad dog!” he yanked his sleeve free. “Get out of here! Shoo!”

The dog barked again and made another grab for his sleeve.

“No! Go! Go find your owner!”

The Xolo dog barked again and his eyes landed on his songbook.

“No, don’t!”

Too late. The dog lunged forward and grabbed the songbook in his jaws. Then, he ran off down an alley. Héctor swore and leapt to his feet. He raced after the dog, jumping over trash cans and discarded crates. The dog ran into the main road with Héctor close behind him. As his feet pounded the cobblestones, he was suddenly glad of how late it was—there were less people around to hamper his chase. Every few moments, the dog would glance over its shoulder, as if checking whether Héctor was behind him.

_It’s like the daft dog wants me to follow him,_ he thought.

The dog led him through the streets until the buildings became more sparse and the road went from cobblestone to dirt. Héctor stumbled to a halt, panting hard, and looked around. Out here were the fields that surrounded _Santa Cecilia_ , most filled with towering stalks of corn, though the harvest was still months away. The sun was almost gone and the sky had turned silvery grey. Eerie shadows lingered between the crops on either side of the road. The dog paused and looked back at him.

_Where is this dog taking me?_ Héctor wondered as he tried to suck air into his burning lungs.

Suddenly, the dog disappeared into the long stalks. Héctor glanced around nervously. As a child, he’d had a few nasty encounters with farmers—mainly when farmers found that he and Ernesto had wandered onto their land uninvited—and it had left him with a healthy respect for the farmers and their dogs. He wiped his dripping forehead. He couldn’t hear any other dogs . . . he took a deep breath and stepped into the corn field. He needed his songbook back. He pushed aside stalks of corn. The towering plants blotted out what was left of the silver twilight sky and their leaves brushed Héctor’s skin in an annoying manner as he pushed his way through the plants.

“Where have you gone to, you silly dog?” Héctor muttered under his breath.

Almost immediately, he heard barking over to his left, followed by a low, anxious whine. He shoved aside the stalks of corn and froze.

The dog was there and he’d dropped Héctor’s red songbook. But, all of his attention went directly to the limp figure lying atop stalks of crushed corn.

_It’s the body of a child._

Héctor lunged forward, falling to his knees beside the boy. He turned him over frantically felt his neck for a pulse, vaguely remembering to use his fingers rather than his thumbs. He felt a faint pumping against his fingertips and a wave of relief soaked him to the bones.

“Well, you’re alive _chamaco_. That’s a good thing.”

He took a better look at the boy, now that he was certain the boy was alive. The boy had short, dark hair and ears that seemed a bit too big for his head. He wore a bizarre shirt with no buttons and equally strange dark blue trousers.

“Where on earth did you come from?” He wondered aloud.

The boy didn’t answer, but the dog barked in response and pawed at the boy.

“I’m guessing he’s your owner? Well, you’re a good dog, finding him help.”

Héctor reached out and scratched the dog behind the ears. Then, he scooped the songbook up with his other hand.

“Good dog,” he said and the dog wagged his tail.

He tucked the songbook into the band of his trousers and looked at the boy. “Ay, _chamaco_. We need to get you back to your _familia._ ” Héctor glanced at the dog who was still pawing worriedly at the boy.

I don’t suppose you know where the boy’s family is?”

The Xolo dog gave a happy bark and leapt ontop of Héctor. He struggled to stay upright as the dog slobbered all over his face.

“Get off me, you dumb dog.” He shoved the dog off of him and wiped his face. He glanced down at the unconscious boy. “I can’t leave you lying in the field, so I guess that means you’re coming home with me.”

Héctor scooped the boy into his arms. Then, he turned and walked out of the field with the Xolo dog right beside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so Miguel and Hector are reunited, mostly thanks to Dante.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this. I enjoyed writing Hector whilst he was alive. And, I wonder if anyone caught who Senor Posada is related to?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we come to a chapter in Imelda's perspective. I love writing Imelda--she's such a great character and I hope that I've done her justice here. 
> 
> I also wanted to upload this today, since Hector's birthday is on 30 November, according to Disney Wiki, and I wanted this done by then. :D

“Mamá, when is Papá coming home?” Coco asked.

Imelda glanced at the window. The sun had sunk beneath the horizon and the sky was already silver-grey and getting darker. Héctor really was late . . . Imelda pulled on her best reassuring smile and said.

“Don’t worry _mija._ I’m sure Papá will be home soon _.”_

Coco nodded approvingly. “Good.”

Coco went back to drawing at the table. Imelda couldn’t stop a fond smile creeping across her face. Her daughter was so beautiful. She had thick dark hair that Imelda loved to braid into two plaits on either side of her face and a wide, infectious smile—just like her Papá. Still, as Imelda looked at her daughter, her heart sank as she noted, once again, the signs of wear on Coco’s clothing, particularly on her little shoes. New shoes were a luxury that they couldn’t afford right now.

Coco looked up suddenly. “Do you think he’ll be late for _la cena_?”

“No, _mija_. He’ll be home soon. You know your Papá. He probably got distracted by all the music in Mariachi Plaza.”

Coco giggled and coughed.

“ _Mija_? Are you all right?”

Imelda went over and pressed her ear to Coco’s chest. The little girl squirmed, but held still as Imelda closed her eyes.

“Breathe deeply. In . . . Out . . . in . . . out.”

Coco obeyed and Imelda strained her ears. Then, she heard it: a slight rattle in Coco’s chest. It was faint, but it was there. Imelda pressed her lips together worriedly. Influenza was always dangerous for a child as young as Coco, but the sound wasn’t terrible . . .

“Mamá?”

“ _Gracias, mija._ I heard what I needed to.”

She pulled away from Coco and kissed the top of her head. She decided if the cough got any worse, she’d take her to the _medico._ She’d find the money for that somehow—she wasn’t going to play with her daughter’s health. Imelda went back to the stove, grabbing a log from the bracket beside it and Coco went back to her drawing, her little legs swinging freely above the ground. The kitchen chairs were a bit too big for her to sit comfortably, but Imelda didn’t like to leave her alone in the sitting room while she was cooking. She preferred to have Coco there, where she could keep an eye on her.

Imelda added the log to the wood-burning stove and stirred the broth bubbling on the top. It was a simple soup, made from chicken and lemon and it was one of her favourites for treating influenza. She tasted it, added a bit more salt and stirred again. She blew on the spoon and held it out to Coco.

“Do you want a taste, _mija_?”

“Yes, please!”

Then, Imelda heard a dog barking. She frowned. What could be—

“IMELDA!”

Her heart jolted. Imelda had never heard Héctor sound so scared before. Coco’s head snapped up.

“PAPÁ! He’s home!” She leapt from her seat and raced towards the door.

“Coco! No!” Imelda threw aside her spoon and raced after her daughter. She reached the front door before Coco and yanked it open. Her eyes widened as she saw Héctor running towards her with an unconscious boy in his arms and a Xolo dog racing around them.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“Papá, who is that? And whose doggie is this?” Coco asked as she peered around Imelda’s skirts.

“The dog stole my songbook.”

“What?”

“Can we keep the doggie?”

“Coco, wait a moment, _mija_ ,” Héctor said. “I need to get him inside _.”_

Imelda nodded and stepped aside to let him into the house. She followed Héctor to the room where Coco slept. Their house was small, plain and poor, particularly when compared to her family’s _hacienda_. But, it was warm and welcoming and Imelda loved it fiercely. After all, it had everything they needed: a neat kitchen with a wood-burning stove; a small lounge with comfortable chairs where they could sit and listen to Héctor play; a bathroom for washing; a room for Héctor and Imelda to share; and a much smaller room for Coco.

Héctor pushed open the door with his foot and headed to the bed, avoiding the wooden toys that Imelda’s brothers made for Coco and set the boy down on her bed. He pulled the blankets over him and smoothed the boy’s hair. Imelda’s eyes went to the boy’s chest, confirming the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Coco tilted her head curiously and moved closer to the boy.

“Papá? Why is he sleeping? Is going to sleep in my bed?”

“No, _mija._ It’s just for a little bit. I need to go get the _medico_ and—”

The boy mumbled something. The dog dashed over and licked his fingers, making him twitch.

“It looks like he’s waking up,” Imelda said.

She glanced at Héctor and read the need to talk privately in his eyes.

Imelda smiled at her daughter. “Why don’t you take the leftover chicken bits from our soup and put it in a bowl for the doggie? It’s in the small cupboard by the sink.”

“Does that mean we can keep the doggie?”

“You like the stray dog?”

“Definitely!” She ran over and hugged the dog. The foolish animal barked happily and slobbered all over her face. “Can we keep him?”

“ _Mija_ , we can’t keep the dog.”

Coco’s face fell. “Why not?”

“We can’t adopt strays.”

“I don’t know about that, _mi amor,_ ” Héctor said.

Imelda looked at him in confusion and he said “You do have a knack for taking in strays.”

“What are you talking about?”

He tapped his chest and winked at her. “You took in this stray _músico_ , didn’t you?”

She didn’t know whether to smile or roll her eyes at him. So, she settled for trying to swat his head, making him duck.

Coco giggled again and Imelda said, “I thought you were going to feed the doggie?”

“I am! I am!”

She scampered out of the room, calling for the dog. The dog, however, hesitated. He sent an anxious glance towards the boy, before looking between Imelda and Héctor. Evidently deciding that the boy was safe, he dashed after her. Satisfied that Coco was out of earshot, Imelda asked, keeping her voice low “What happened, Héctor?”

He answered her in an equally low voice. “After my meeting with _Señor_ Posada at the _Café Avellaneda,_ that dog stole my songbook. I chased it into the fields and found the boy there.”

He looked worriedly at the boy. Imelda’s eyes followed his and she sat down on the bed. She smoothed back his hair and he seemed to respond to her touch; she could see movement beneath his eyelids. He looked so vulnerable lying there—it triggered something fierce and protective inside her.

“Do you think we still need to get the _medico_? I think you’re right about him waking up soon,” Héctor asked.

It seemed she wasn’t the only one who felt that way, either.

“I don’t think we need _medico_ just yet _._ If he’s not awake in a few minutes, we’ll get the _medico._ And he can look at Coco while he’s here. _”_

He glanced sharply at her. “Has she been coughing badly? Any sneezing, sore throat, runny nose?”

Imelda shook her head. “None of that. But, there’s a rattle in her chest I don’t like.”

“I see.”

“I’m keeping an eye on it.”

“I know you are, _mi amor.”_

He joined her on the bed. She looked at Héctor and tried not to stare. He looked haggard and Imelda’s heart ached at the sight.

She reached out and took his hand. “ _Mi amor,_ what’s wrong?”

He hesitated and then said. “I told _Señor_ Posada that we can’t pay the rent this month.”

Imelda’s mouth went dry and her grip tightened on him. “And? What did he say?”

“. . . He’s a good man. He says that he’ll let us make a part-payment this month, as long as I perform with Ernesto at his wife’s _fiesta_.”

Imelda furrowed her brow as she considered it. “That’s good news.”

“Yes, but Imelda . . . it’s not a long-term solution. _You_ know that. _I_ know that. I need to find something that brings in money.”

“We’ll find something. Together.” She leant over and kissed his cheek.

He smiled at her in the way that made her heart flutter.

“You’re right. And, after all, Ernesto has been saying that I should join him on tour to earn money. Maybe, I should try it out?”

“Maybe,” she said.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want Héctor to perform. She knew that music ran through his being. It was his lifeblood. But, she also didn’t want him to miss out on the important things, like Coco’s birthday, or seeing her go to the school for the first time. Going on tour seemed like it was certain to make him miss out on his family.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “ _Mi amor_ , even if this doesn’t work out, you won’t be left on the streets. You could always—”

“No. Héctor, I know what you’re going to say and I won’t do it. I’m not going to ask _those people_ for help.”

He opened his mouth to argue, when the boy suddenly groaned.

“What . . . happened?” the boy asked, as he clutched at his head.

“You tell us, _chamaco_ ,” Héctor said as he turned towards him, “You gave us quite a scare.”

The boy spasmed, as if he’d been hit by lightning. “ _Papá_ _Héctor?_ ”

His eyes flew open and focused on her and Héctor. His face drained of colour.

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Ohnoohnoohno.” His breathing came in jagged gasps as he backed away until he hit the metal posts of the headboard.

“Thiscan’tbehappeingingyou’redeadyou’resupposedtobedeadthiscan’tbehappeningwhataremyparentsgoingtosayyou’redeadthiscan’tbehappening.” Tears dripped down his cheeks and he shook.

The panic in his voice triggered something in Imelda. She pulled him into her arms and, a moment later, Héctor’s arms wrapped around them. The boy let out a chocked sob and clung to them both, mumbling a broken mixture of apologies, phrases and promises that Imelda couldn’t understand.

“Mamá? Papá? What’s going on? Why’s the boy crying?” Coco asked as she crept into the room.

The dog walked into the room and went straight to the boy and pressed his face into the boy’s leg. The boy let out a strangled sob.

“Of course. Of course _she’s_ here,” he mumbled.

The dog whined and the boy reached out. He patted the dog’s head and took a deep breath. He pulled away from Imelda and wiped his eyes.

“I-I’m all right. I-I just got a bit o-of a shock.” He swallowed hard. “Erm . . . could you tell me the year?”

Héctor’s brow furrowed. “The year?”

“Yes.”

“It’s 1921.”

The boy flinched again and Imelda saw his hands shaking harder. Héctor reached over and laid a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“ _Chamaco_ , are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said, but she could hear the lie in his voice and she was sure Héctor could too.

Héctor sighed and gave the boy’s shoulder one final squeeze.

“All right, _chamaco_ , I think introductions are in order.” He held out his hand. “I’m Héctor Rivera.”

Miguel shook his hand and then he gestured at Imelda. “This is my wife, Imelda, and my beautiful little girl, Coco.”

“Hello!” Coco waved enthusiastically.

The boy waved back hesitantly and said “I’m Miguel, and my dog is Dante.”

“What kind of name is ‘Dante’?” Coco asked.

“It’s just his name,” Miguel said.

“Oh. But—”

“Coco, stop pestering him, _”_ she scolded gently as she reached over and lifted Coco onto her lap.

Miguel smiled and she could have sworn she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. “I don’t mind at all. I like answering her questions.”

“Why were you sleeping? Why did my Papá bring you home?”

His face fell and he seemed to hesitate before answering. “I—I don’t know. I-I don’t remember. One moment I was at home with my family and the next thing I knew, I was here, in your house.”

Imelda exchanged a worried look with Héctor and then asked gently. “Miguel, do you remember where your _familia_ is?”

This time, Imelda knew she saw tears in his eyes. He sniffed and said “I-I’m not sure where my family is right now. I don’t know how to get back to them. They’re probably so worried and I promised that I wouldn’t run off. I don’t want to worry them again and I didn’t mean to but—”

Imelda reached over and grabbed his hand even as Héctor squeezed his shoulder again.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said soothingly, “Everything is going to be fine.”

“We’ll help you find them, don’t worry,” Héctor said.

Miguel opened his mouth, but his own stomach growled and interrupted him. Coco giggled as he blushed.

“You need to eat something,” Imelda said. “We have plenty of food and you’re welcome to join us.”

_“Muchos gracias,”_ he said.

“And, you can stay with us until we find them,” Héctor said, with a glance at Imelda.

She nodded in assent. “We’ll discuss how to find your family in the morning.”

She knew that it was dangerous to let a stranger into her home, but he was a child. A lost, scared child with nowhere to go. She couldn’t just kick him out onto the streets. Particularly because, whenever she looked at him, she felt a maternal protectiveness rise up inside her.

Miguel blinked. _“Muchos gracias,”_ he said again.

“ _De nada,_ ” Imelda said and Héctor added. “Don’t worry, _chamaco,_ you’ll get back to your family.”

“Now let’s eat,” Imelda said as she lifted Coco up. Héctor opened the door and followed her out.

But, as they left the room, she could have sworn she heard Miguel say softly “I’m lucky. I’m already with my family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, so here' the end of the story. Not, really, but for the purposes of the unloads anyway. Like I said, this was part of a much, much longer tale, but I didn't think I could commit to providing everyone with such a long tale.
> 
> Still, if there's interest, I could always upload other bits and pieces from this AU. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Miguel is in trouble once again.
> 
> I hope people caught the references to "Atlantis:Lost Empire". It's one of my favourite movies. I thought Atlantian technolgy/magic might be a good way to send Miguel back in time.
> 
> On a side note, I am aware that Audrey Ramirez is Puerto Rican, not Mexican, but I thought that, after she becomes wealthy, she would have expanded her mechanic empire throughout North America and buy a old house in Mexico that she would renovate and live in later.


End file.
